


how deep is the ocean

by orphan_account



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Self-Indulgent, or bucky's a pretty soft mob boss and steve's a skinny dweeb who's good at sex and snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-19
Updated: 2014-10-19
Packaged: 2018-02-21 19:26:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2479730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What?” Bucky asks, sliding his hand from Steve’s hair to his neck. “You happy or something?”</p><p>“Nah,” Steve says, grinning all the wider. “Just like seeing your ugly mug, Barnes.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	how deep is the ocean

There’s something to be said about long, tanned limbs spread wide across thousand-count linens. A sultry mouth curled with slightly sadistic amusement, the sharp glint of wicked intelligence in a subdued blue eye, rosy cheeks and a still whistling nose; it’s all there, and it’s all taunting. Hell, it’s hard to pull away from that kind of allure.

Bucky traces a finger down the slight range ribs and over the soft concave of a stomach that's missed one too many meals. He’s thin; a kid of the depression, no doubt, but still manages to make it work. There’s blond hair all over; a patch beneath the man's belly button, another at the base of his cock, transparent pants of it down his bony, tanned legs. Maybe it says something about Bucky’s tastes, maybe it doesn’t, but Rogers is by far the prettiest young thing to affront him in a bar and stick around long enough to become a regular.

“What’re you lookin’ at?”

Rogers’ smile is always a little too suggestive to be purely innocent, but Bucky always finds himself grinning right back. “Nothin’ much,” he replies. “Just a couple of bones and a kid with an attitude.”

“Better start learnin’ some respect, Barnes, I’m a couple’a years older than you.”

“Uh-huh, I still don’t believe that.”

“Says the guy who was shitting his diapers while I was workin’ the chimneys.”

Maybe Rogers' tendency to constantly invalidate everything Bucky says is all the more telling. Regardless, it ain’t like he’s the first guy to take up a pal instead of a dame. A boss out in Jersey’s got himself a pretty little thing named Tim and no one’s said a damn thing.

No one’s said anything to Bucky either, but he supposes that says something good about his own management.

The clubs are doing well. The bookstores are doing even better. The depression is about to end, according to all of the politicians on the radio, and Bucky can't disagree. He’s making honest-to-God bank, and business is good.

Business, and everything else he supposes, is good.

Steve’s still asking him to call him Steve. It’s a little odd, knowing that he’ll never really, truly be able to make an honest man out of the guy.

He does lean forward, though, and he does kiss the lazy smirk right off his face. He even slides his hand into his hair and tilts his head this way and that, like all of the big-time movie stars do when they’re kissing the big-time movie starlets. Bucky doesn’t think Steve’s a starlet. He’s much too crass.

When he pulls away, Steve is grinning like a motherfucker.

“What?” Bucky asks, sliding his hand from Steve’s hair to his neck. “You happy or something?”

“Nah,” Steve says, grinning all the wider. “Just like seeing your ugly mug, Barnes.”

“Ugly, huh?”

“Nah, you’ve got a dame’s mouth. You’re pretty, Buck.” Oh, and if he thought his voice dropping a whole octave would just go over Bucky’s head, he’d be dead wrong.

He smirks as he trails his hand lower, pausing at Steve’s bony shoulders to draw little hearts into the skin, if only to get Steve to roll his eyes. He kisses the sass off his face before continuing, making sure to stop after each notch of sharp vertebrae pushing at his skin. He spreads his hand wide once he gets to the small of Steve’s back, thumbs at the dimples framing his spine. He skimps his hand lower, cupping Steve’s ass before hitching down his leg and tugging it over his hip.

Steve just sighs. “What’s that, wise guy,” he murmurs into Bucky’s cheek. “Don’t want’a go any further?”

“Maybe,” Bucky replies, sliding his hand back to Steve’s ass and gliding a finger down the cleft. He waits until Steve shivers to ask, “Got any ideas?”

“Just a few,” Steve says, wrapping his leg around Bucky’s hips and tugging him until he’s all but on top of him.

Bucky leans down to kiss him before pulling away. Regardless of what is said about men who take their time, Bucky’s a man of detail. Detail meaning he doesn’t like it when Steve takes ‘role’ a little to far and insists that he’s good without oil, or anything really. The dames Bucky’s had could take that; they were good on their own. Steve, tough as he may be, is a fucking idiot if he thinks a dick in his ass ain’t going to hurt without so much as corner store Vaseline.

It’s in his drawer, just where it was two hours ago when they started their lazy Tuesday (and Monday, and Sunday). Bucky makes quick work of opening it and scooping out more than twice he needs before slipping back under the sheets and tugging Steve’s leg back over his hip. He’s quick to draw his fingers in a slow slide between his cheeks, quicker to poke his index finger into his pucker and massage him open enough to fuck him with it. He’s slow when he kisses him pliant, though. Careful with where he puts his free hand and gentle with how he leans his weight onto Steve’s shoulders.

He’s slow when he kisses down his chin, his chest, and his stomach.

And he’s slow when he kisses the pink tip of his dick before swallowing him down.

Steve gasps and slides his hand into Bucky’s hair, fingertips like matches where they tug at Bucky’s hair. It’s a nice feeling, Bucky thinks, subjecting himself to someone’s will. He doesn’t mind if he’s ‘submissive’; it’s just what he likes. Steve likes it too, so it can’t be a bad thing. Whatever the case, he has to keep from smiling as he pulls back up to the tip and sucks a bit at the crown.

And the thing is, dick doesn’t taste nice. Never. Even Steve’s, but that’s all right. He just likes watching Steve’s reaction. Because he’s so goddamn different with the way his toes curl into the sheets, or his fingers twitch in Bucky’s hair, or the way he sighs, “Damn, Buck,” real quiet-like under his breath when Bucky licks at his slit. He’s an odd mishmash of soft and rough, and it’s fucking beautiful.

So yeah, Bucky loves loosening him up like this.

He does have to pull off eventually when Steve’s hips push a little too rough into his mouth, or when Steve’s asshole clamps down a little too quick around Bucky’s two fingers. He pulls away and he climbs back up Steve’s body and kisses him gently, just to feel how Steve leans up to chase after Bucky’s mouth.

“Ready?” he asks, drawing his dry hand down the side of Steve’s face and stroking his cheekbone.

“I am if you are,” Steve replies. So Bucky gives himself a good couple of jerks before giving Steve a small nod, spreading his legs, and pushing in real slow.

One thing about guys, or rather, one thing about _sex_ with guys is that they’re always so fucking tight. Not that Bucky’s fucked a lot of men, but other bosses liked giving gifts and it’s not like Bucky’s ever been in any sort of closet, phobia or no phobia. He’s gotten around, and the guys had been nice, but they weren’t there for their enjoyment. They were paid.

Steve isn’t.

Not that he’s Bucky’s guy or anything, as much as Bucky wishes he was. Pal would be more applicable; right hand man, if you will. Steve’s a genius, and a master forger, and a tactician that the military would have scouted had he not been a mob man. Still might, if Bucky’s sources across the ocean have anything true to say.

He’s a friend, but he’s more because he’s here with as much want as Bucky is.

He’s the kind of guy who’d be worthy of an, “I love you,” if Bucky was that brand of sap.

He’s someone to be feared.

But also someone to be coddled.

He’s absolutely perfect, even with his ailments and his frailty.

He’s everything Bucky’s wanted in a person or in a lover.

He’s a total, and complete punk with a bigger mouth on him than Bucky knows what to do with.

And he’s amazing at pushing Bucky into the bed just after he’s gotten about balls deep inside of him, too.

“Jesus,” Steve mutters, arching his hips and shoving Bucky onto his back with the practiced ease of someone who’s been doing this a long, long time. Bucky just grins and slides his hands up to Steve’s hips once they’ve rolled over. “Where’d you get this thing, huh? Don’t know too many Irish boys with things this big.”

“You’re Irish, dumbass.”

“And do you see a fuckin’ horse cock between my legs?”

“Nah, but I ain’t got a horse cock.”

“Yes you do.”

Bucky would’ve said no, but he was too busy trying not to moan or make any other embarrassing noises as Steve swivels his hips up and around in a little circle before seating himself in Bucky’s lap. All the while, the fucker has the capacity to look contemplative or something, like he’s thinking about poetry while having sex.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

He slides his hands from Steve’s hips to smooth over his flank and to languidly tug at his cock. As average as it is, Bucky has to actively stop himself from attributing the word ‘cute’ to it. Nonetheless, he finds almost all of Steve is cute. Bucky’s never told him that, not a single fucking time because it would’ve earned him a punch to the jaw. Coincidentally, even the part of Steve that’s so adamant about proving just how tough he is happens to be cute, but Bucky’s not about to tell him that.

The thing about sex with Steve is that Bucky doesn’t necessarily feel like he has to restrict himself with him. Around the other bosses, he’s expected to maintain a quiet dignity. He’s supposed to be passive towards his bed warmers, and passive towards everyone else unless they argue against him.

Steve argues against him all the time, but Bucky loves it. He doesn’t hit him, like the other bosses all brag about doing to their gals.

Bucky thinks that’s horrible; he doesn't think he could hurt Steve if he wanted to.

Regardless, Bucky lets himself be vulnerable with Steve because Steve doesn’t judge. He just gets this dumb smile on his face right before he does something that makes Bucky fucking _whine_ and blushes when Bucky asks him to do it again.

“C’mon, Stevie,” Bucky says, grabbing Steve’s shoulders and pulling him snug against his chest. “Just one more time.”

Steve’s panting in his ear, and Bucky can feel something sticky-slick press against his stomach. He’s close, then. “You’d like that, huh?” Steve says, low and a little breathy, as Bucky pushes up into him.

“Yeah, punk, I’d like th- _at_ ,” he replies at the tail end of a moan and Steve clamps down on him, hands, knees, and ass, and grinds down to meet him thrust for thrust.

After that, Bucky doesn’t know if it’s him or Steve that comes first.

He does know that he feels like he’s pumped his dick dry once Steve finally collapses in a heap on top of him, and he knows that they’re going to need a shower within the next twenty minutes if they don’t want the sheets to stick places they don’t want them to stick.

They end up sitting and basking in the after glow, though. Steve traces small patterns over Bucky’s shoulder once he gets his breath back, and once Bucky’s rubbed his chest enough to quiet the soft wheezing rattling around Steve's lungs. Bucky likes to ask what he’s drawing, and when he guesses right, Steve likes to smile and drop a kiss onto his lips.

“Flower?”

“Nah, Buck, you can do better ‘n that.”

“Star of David?”

“Does the Star of David have curvature?”

“No.”

“… hearts?”

Another aspect of token Steve's unique brand of token cuteness. Everything he does has a certain sweetness to it, like he’s replacing all of the negative shit in the world with soft smiles and well-meaning sass and little hearts drawn on Bucky’s bicep. He’s contrary as fuck, definitely, but he’s gentle about it. Not many boys from Brooklyn can say as much.

 Though Bucky knows more than to think Steve as sweet. He’s seen him on the streets fighting for some dame’s right to walk without being assaulted by some asshole. He’s seen him get socked in the jaw and spit the blood right back at the guy who threw the punch. Steve’s a fucking hurricane, and no matter how small he is, he’ll always be something to be reckoned with.

“Now what?” Bucky asks as Steve slides his hand from Bucky’s shoulder to hover over his chest.

Steve shrugs. “Nothin’.”

“Don’t bullshit me, Rogers, what’re you thinkin’ about?”

“Have you ever loved anyone, Buck?”

It’s definitely a valid question, but Bucky finds himself blushing nonetheless. He slides his hands up Steve’s back to rest on his shoulder blades. “Why are you asking?” he says instead of giving an answer.

Steve just shrugs again and taps out a little disjoint rhythm against Bucky’s skin. After a few minutes, he sighs and sits up, runs his fingers through his hair, and looks towards the open bathroom door. “We should probably clean up, huh.”

Bucky wants to ask him why again, but he knows when to pick his battles. Already Steve’s lifting himself out of Bucky’s lap and climbing out of bed. Already the pink blush that covers him from head to toe is fading back to his usual freckled, tanned skin.

“Hey,” Bucky says, kicking off the sheets and sprinting to catch Steve around the waist.

He doesn’t look back when he asks, “Yeah, Bucky?”

“If I loved you, what would you do about it?”

Steve turns in his arms and slides his hands up to Bucky’s hips. His eyes are staring at something over Bucky’s shoulder, but his cheeks are peachy, like he’s trying not to blush but is failing despite his efforts. It’s after a moment that he flicks his eyes over at Bucky and stops chewing his lips to answer, “I wouldn’t do a damn thing I’m not already doing.”

And because Bucky doesn’t know how to reply to that kind of thing, he smiles and leans down to kiss Steve breathless again and again until Steve pulls away with a wrinkled nose and a wry smile.

“What?” Bucky asks.

“You’ve got come on your belly and it’s gross, moron.”

“Oh.”

Steve doesn’t pull away altogether, though. He keeps a hand on Bucky’s elbow as he pulls him into the bathroom. Even when he’s turning the faucet and the tub is filling, he’s leaning into Bucky’s side with this dumb, pleased expression on his face.

And after they climb in, he snuggles between Bucky’s legs and kisses his hand and falls asleep.

And Bucky thinks yeah, Steve’s a punk, and has attitude problems, and is horribly sweet at the most inopportune times, but if he wasn’t he wouldn’t be the guy Bucky’s completely head over heels for. And yeah, it’s really fucking Hollywood but sometimes Hollywood happens.

Except Steve’s no Joan Crawford, and Bucky’s no Clark Gable; either way, it's their strange brand of happiness that keeps them together, and Bucky wouldn't have it any other way.

**Author's Note:**

> Yell at me on [tumblr](http://buckybaarnes.co.vu).


End file.
